Ethan stormed toward his car, every step radiating fury. His bodyguards mirrored his pace, moving like shadows at his sides. He handed his bag to them without a word, then yanked off his coat and threw it to the ground. The guards quickly picked it up.
Without looking back, Ethan slid into his car and slammed the door shut.
"Drive," he barked.
The driver flinched. He had never seen Ethan so enraged. Calm, collected, always in control — that Ethan was gone today. This was raw, unfiltered anger, visible on every line of his face.
Ethan clenched his fists, jaw tight, and leaned his head against the window. His eyes narrowed, burning with a single thought he dared not voice aloud: I hate you, Elena.
A low murmur escaped him, almost unheard: "You bloody idiot… you turned my own joke against me."
The fire in his eyes only grew.
"Stop the car!" he snapped at the driver.
"Sir, we haven't reached home yet," the driver replied cautiously.
Ethan slammed his hand on the dashboard, the force rattling the interior. "I said stop the car!"
The car screeched to a halt on the side of the road. The guards' vehicles pulled up alongside. The first guard leapt out, concern etched into his face.
"Sir, are you—"
Ethan's glare cut him off.
He drew in a deep, trembling breath. For a moment, his body shook. The guard stepped closer, sensing the storm within.
Two sharp punches. The guard crumpled to the ground, dazed.
Another guard hesitated. "Sir, I… I didn't—"
Another blow sent him sprawling too.
Ethan's chest heaved. Even in the bitter cold, sweat drenched his body. His hair stuck to his forehead, drenched. He grabbed a water bottle from the car and let the cold liquid pour over his face, letting it douse the fire inside him.
He tried to calm himself, to regain control. But today, anger was heavier than usual.
Today, even Ethan Walker had lost.
Meanwhile, Elena's van arrived.
She climbed in first, her movements casual but controlled, masking the turmoil inside her. Her friend followed immediately, sensing the tension but unaware of its full magnitude.
Elena's body betrayed her. For the first time, she couldn't contain her feelings. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her chest heaving as she tried to release the weight crushing her from within.
"Are you okay?" her friend asked softly.
Elena only shook her head, silent, letting the tears fall. She couldn't stop them.
"It's okay, Elena. You just… control yourself a bit, alright? The others are watching. Don't give them a chance," her friend urged, offering a tissue.
Elena inhaled deeply. The act of breathing, of trying to settle her heart, gave her some relief. She took a small sip of water, wiped her tears, adjusted her appearance, and sat back. She would not let anyone see how badly she had been toyed with.
Her gaze flicked to the girls walking toward the van. Casual, composed, she started chatting with her friend.
"Hey, did you take the notes for me? I missed them. Can you send them to me?"
The girls inside laughed softly. "Do you realize… Ethan didn't even mean to be serious. You basically just humiliated him in front of everyone!"
Elena smiled faintly, almost imperceptibly. Her pride was bruised, yes. Her heart still ached. But she had survived.
"Yes, he's too charming. The way he proposed… if it had been anyone else, I might've said yes. But you? You turned the tables perfectly. Proud, arrogant… he had no chance."
Elena listened silently. Her heart still shattered in small pieces. Every mention of him cut her anew, yet each step forward strengthened her resolve.
The van moved swiftly down the road. Cool air swept in, but it did little to soothe the fire in Elena's chest. The memory of humiliation lingered, persistent as ever.
She let herself breathe. She let herself feel.
And she knew, deep down… this story was far from over.
Elena burst through the front door, slamming it behind her with the force of every thought and emotion she had held in all day. Her steps were quick, almost frantic, as she raced to her room. The door clicked shut, the lock sliding into place with a finality that echoed louder than any words could.
She let out a long, shuddering breath, throwing her bag onto the bed with a thump that made the mattress groan. She collapsed beside it, face down, burying herself in the sheets as if the fabric could absorb the weight of her humiliation, anger, and exhaustion.
From the kitchen, her mother's voice called out, warm and persistent.
"Elena! Look! Today I made your favorite — dumpling soup! Come quickly, or it'll get cold!"
But Elena didn't move. She didn't answer. Her body was heavy, pressed into the mattress like gravity itself had decided to hold her down. Every sound from outside her room felt distant, filtered through the haze of her own thoughts.
She felt small, trapped, and enormous all at once — her anger at Ethan coiling tightly in her chest, her shame and humiliation still raw, and beneath it all, a small, defiant spark telling her she would survive this.
Meanwhile, in his own world of chaos, Ethan had shut the door to his bathroom with a snap. He stripped off his clothes, throwing them haphazardly, and stepped into the shower.
The water pounded down like a drum of cold fury, drenching him, soaking through every fiber of his being. It was as if he could wash away the wildfire of rage still burning inside him. His hands clenched and unclenched, fists tight at his sides, knuckles white against the onslaught of emotions he rarely let surface.
The water stung his skin, but he welcomed it, welcomed the physical reminder that the fire inside him could be controlled, cooled, directed — eventually. He stayed there, letting the torrent crash over him, feeling the heat of humiliation, frustration, and defeat slowly drain, drop by drop, into the drain below.
Even in the cold, even beneath the force of water, Ethan's body trembled — not with weakness, but with the intensity of a man who had always held everything in, now forced to release it, even if only to himself.
Today, control had slipped. Today, rage had won small victories.
And yet, beneath it all, a storm of reckoning was just beginning.
Elena lay on her bed, face pressed into the pillow, her breaths uneven, shaky. She could still feel every echo from the courtyard — the laughter, the eyes, the cameras flashing, every whisper that had pierced her chest. Her fists dug into the sheets as if she could claw the weight of the world off her shoulders.
Tears had come and gone, leaving tracks that burned her skin like tiny flames. Now, she just let herself feel it all — humiliation, anger, frustration, and a strange, simmering power. The kind of power that forms when someone refuses to break completely.
Her mother's distant voice drifted from the kitchen again, soft and persistent.
"Elena, sweetie… dumpling soup is getting cold!"
Elena ignored it. Not because she didn't hear, but because her entire universe had shrunk into the room, into her chest, into the heavy pulse of blood that seemed to echo in her ears.
She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, and let the tears fall freely this time. Not the careful, controlled tears in the van — these were messy, unrestrained, the kind that scrape the edges of your soul. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rip everything apart. She wanted to vanish and come back stronger.
Every thought twisted back to Ethan. His laughter. His eyes. The smug tilt of his jaw. The way he had toyed with her like a cat with a butterfly. How dare he?
Her hands clenched her pillow, nails digging into the fabric, and for a moment, she imagined throwing it across the room, smashing something, letting the rage out physically. But instead, she just breathed — heavy, deep, sharp.
Somewhere inside, beneath the fire and the hurt, she felt a strange calm forming. A plan, a focus. She would not let this break her. Not entirely. Not ever.
Meanwhile, Ethan let the shower cascade over him, the cold water searing his skin, chasing away the heat of his anger, though never fully taming it. His fists tightened again, and he pressed them to the tiles, feeling the sting of water and porcelain alike. He replayed every detail in his mind — Elena's laugh, her defiance, the casual way she had turned his prank back on him.
She wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to crumble.
The thought hit him like ice. And yet… he could feel it. Something had changed. That small, subtle spark in her — the fire that had not been extinguished — terrified him.
He lifted his head under the pounding water, eyes narrowing. She's stronger than I thought. Stronger than anyone, even himself, had anticipated.
And for the first time in a long while, Ethan Walker felt truly… unsettled.
The water washed over him, but it could not wash away the realization that the game had shifted. And somewhere deep inside, beneath the rage, beneath the pride, the ember of obsession began to stir.
Because Elena — even furious, even hurt, even defiant — had captured something he had never anticipated.
Something he could not let go of.
Elena finally pushed herself up from the bed.
Her face was washed, her expression composed — almost too composed. The storm inside her had quieted, but it hadn't disappeared. It had simply sunk deeper.
She unlocked her door and walked toward the kitchen.
The warm scent of dumpling soup wrapped around her the moment she entered. Her mother turned with a soft smile.
"There you are. I told you it would get cold."
Elena forced a small smile — the kind daughters wear so their mothers don't worry.
"I'm here, Mom."
She sat down quietly. No complaints. No explanations. No cracks in her voice. She picked up the spoon and began eating slowly, mechanically. The warmth of the soup spread through her body, but it didn't reach her heart.
Her mother chatted about small things — groceries, a neighbor's visit, tomorrow's schedule. Elena nodded at the right moments.
Then—
Buzz.
Her phone vibrated on the table.
She ignored it.
Buzz. Buzz.
Another notification.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the spoon.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Her mother glanced at her. "Aren't you going to check?"
Elena swallowed. "Later."
But the vibrations wouldn't stop. One after another.
Finally, she picked it up.
Her heart sank.
The school group chat.
Someone had shared the video.
The video.
The courtyard. The proposal. Her "yes." Ethan's expression. The chaos.
Edits had already begun.
Slow-motion clips. Zoom-ins. Dramatic music added in the background.
Memes.
Some of them were about Ethan — screenshots of his stunned face, captions mocking "The Great Ethan Walker getting defeated."
Others were about her.
"Elena saying yes for the plot twist." "Queen behavior." "Best comeback of the year."
Her thumb scrolled down slowly.
Then she saw the edits where her "yes" was replayed again and again — slowed down, romantic background music added, hearts floating across the screen.
Her stomach twisted.
They didn't know.
They didn't know her heart had nearly stopped when she said that word.
They didn't know her hands had been shaking.
They didn't know she had felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff.
To them, it was entertainment.
To her, it was humiliation carved into digital permanence.
Another notification.
Someone had made a side-by-side meme: Ethan smirking confidently. Elena flipping the game.
Caption: "Plot twist of the century."
Her chest tightened again.
Her mother looked at her carefully now. "Everything okay?"
Elena locked her phone instantly and forced a calm breath.
"Yeah. Just school stuff."
She took another spoonful of soup.
It tasted like nothing.
Inside, something fragile cracked again — not loudly, not dramatically — but quietly. Repeatedly. Like thin glass under pressure.
Across the city, Ethan stepped out of the shower, towel around his waist, hair still dripping.
His phone lit up on the counter.
Notification after notification.
He ignored it at first.
Then the screen kept lighting up.
Group chats. Private messages. Tags.
He grabbed it.
And froze.
There it was.
The video.
His jaw tightened.
He watched it once.
Then again.
The moment where Elena smiled and said "yes."
The moment his own smirk faltered.
The moment control slipped.
Then the edits.
Memes of him.
Mockery.
Laughter in comment sections.
"King fell today." "Ethan got outplayed." "New queen unlocked."
His fingers gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles turned pale.
This wasn't just embarrassment.
This was public defeat.
And Ethan Walker had never — not once — been publicly defeated.
His breathing slowed.
Too slow.
Too controlled.
The kind of calm that isn't peace.
The kind that comes before a decision.
He replayed the video again.
But this time, he wasn't looking at himself.
He was looking at Elena.
Her eyes.
Her confidence.
The way she didn't break.
A strange feeling twisted in his chest — anger, yes.
But also something sharper.
Something dangerous.
She didn't just ruin his prank.
She challenged him.
And now the entire school was watching.
A slow, cold smirk formed on his face.
"This isn't over," he whispered to the empty room.
Not even close.
___End of the chapter ____
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